


and a paradise we will share

by TrekFaerie



Series: The Nice and Accurate Kink Meme Fills of Trek Treksson, Bitch [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bad Matchmaking, Coercion, Control, Dancing, Future Fic, Good Intentions, Kissing, Loss of Control, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Magic, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 19:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19752778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: Adam is tired of Aziraphale and Crowley's dithering, and decides to take matters into his own hands.





	and a paradise we will share

**Author's Note:**

> the reason this is a CNTW experience is because, well, adam, it's really fucked up to do this to people! and i'd rather be safe than sorry.
> 
> Aziraphale/Crowley, Adam makes them do it: https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=40040

Anathema was chopping on two different cutting boards. On one, there were the vegetables for her dinner that night, a nice leek soup. On the other, there were a variety of herbs with great magical significance, for Adam’s spellwork. The cuttings from one went into the soup pot, while the other went into the pestle Adam was gleefully grinding next to her. She had tried to keep them separate, but there was definitely going to be some bay leaves in her soup and some chives in whatever he was going to use to dose them – both of which sounded nice, really.

“Have you decided what you’re going to use?” she asked.

He shrugged, but being a teenager, that was just his automatic reaction to all questions, so he did answer her. “Mr. A always serves us tea when I first get there,” he said. “I’m thinking I could get them arguing over something silly, and slip it in while they’re distracted.”

“Hm, sounds like a good plan…” Chop, chop, chop. “What if they catch you?”

“They won’t. I’m very good at it. I’ve been sneaking cinnamon into my dad’s coffee every morning at breakfast for the past week, and he’s never caught me.”

“Your father is a… little less observant than two celestial beings, Adam.”

“I’m only worried about Mr. C, really. He’s clever. I think I could get about anything past Mr. A if I started him on some old book or something.”

“Well, I wish you the best of luck.” Chop, chop. “Hey, Adam? Could you actually do me a little favor?”

“Oh, anything!”

She smiled fondly. “When you’re in London, could you visit Newt for me? I wanted to thank him for that recipe book his mother sent me last week.”

She could call, of course, and she probably would, but she felt Newt could use the cheering effect a visit from Adam could have. Just because, in the wake of a new world, they had found their relationship had faded away, didn’t mean she didn’t still care about him and want to look out for him.

-

He was eventually able to get them started on the reliable standard of the Shakespeare authorship question – “Crowley, we were there, we met him, we saw him and Marlowe at the same dinner once—“ – and unnoticeably empty his little sachets of powder into each of their tea cups. They were sitting in the breakfast nook, a charming little space off of Aziraphale’s bookshop that existed solely because Aziraphale wanted somewhere “homey” to have tea during Adam’s visits. Once they were sufficiently dosed, and the magical powder had what he felt was a sufficient amount to activate, or whatever it was magical powders did, he cleared his throat slightly, which stopped them mid-point and turned their attention, as was proper, entirely back on him.

“Well, Adam,” Crowley said with a lazy drawl. “How’s your summer holiday been? Getting up to your usual mischief and mayhem?”

“It’s been great, actually,” he said, trying to sound as casual as he could. “Anathema’s been teaching me witchcraft.”

Aziraphale’s smile went fragile at the edges, like glass. “Are you really?” he said. “I mean. _Really_.”

Crowley shifted in his seat, as if mentally trying to figure out if, in any way, he could possibly be responsible for that. “Is it more the ‘herbs and crystals’ sort of magic,” he asked, “or the ‘closets filled with chicken blood’ sort of magic?”

“Mostly herbs. Herbs are very, very important.” He sipped his tea, glancing at their own cups. Nearly empty. Good. “I like what she’s been teaching me. It helps me not use my powers as much, you know?” [1]

“Ah. I see. Well, Adam, if you would ever like to learn a spot of _real_ magic, I could always—“

“Got anything to show us, then?” Crowley asked, very loudly. “Any little spells or potions, something of that sort?”

“A powder, actually!” This was it. He could barely contain his excitement, his pleasure at his own cleverness. “It’s been in your tea this whole time!”

There was no sound, apart from Aziraphale’s cup shattering against the floor, and the notable absence of his miracling it back into shape.

Aziraphale’s hands were pressed over his mouth, as if he were going to be sick; he wouldn’t, of course, as Adam had cleverly predicted that roadblock and had cut it off by very cleverly asking for ginger tea. Crowley was still, but it was the dangerous sort of still, like when a snake is coiled up to strike.

“Adam.” He inhaled sharply. “Why. Did. You. Put. Magic. Herbs. In. Our. Tea.”

“Because I’m going to be 16 next month,” he said. “Because I’ve known you for five years. And because if the two of you haven’t figured out you’re in love by now, you obviously need a little help with it!”

He crossed his arms. “And Anathema agrees with me, too.”

“I don’t bloody care what bloody Anathema bloody thinks!” Crowley’s words were hissed through his clenched jaw, his fingers gripping his cup so tightly that only mortal fear of what he would do to a broken cup kept it together. “What did you give us, and what do you think it will do?”

He shrugged. “Herbs. And stuff,” he said, ignoring the pained noise Crowley made. “And some other stuff. It’s meant to make you admit you love each other; I used all the herbs she said were for love!”

“I think I’m dying,” Aziraphale said, slumping bonelessly in his chair.

“Angel, get a grip,” Crowley said, not unkindly. “I need backup.”

“See! You’re clearly in love!”

“I’m actually dying.”

“How in Your Biological But Not True Father’s name have you gotten this into your head?”

“You call him ‘angel.’ Wensley says that’s called a ‘petname,’ which is something you call somebody you love, like how his mum sometimes calls his dad ‘honeybunch.’”

“Oh, Lord, he’s consulted his panel on this matter…”

“Adam, he is _literally_ an angel.”

“Yeah, but the way you say it… The way you say lots of things, really. And the way you look at each other—like that!”

“Adam,” Crowley said stiffly, “I am currently looking at Aziraphale to make sure he doesn’t immediately discorporate from the embarrassment of having a teenager take an interest in your love life.”

“It’s not embarrassing! It’s just love! There’s nothing embarrassing about it!”

“Why did you have to be the only teenage boy in all of human history to think that?”

Adam huffed angrily. The powder clearly wasn’t working as he had hoped. Neither of them looked very much on the cusp of admitting their heart’s desires; Crowley just looked mad, and Aziraphale still looked ill. Drastic measures would have to be taken.

And they _were_ drastic measures. Adam didn’t _like_ using his powers. They always reminded him of how horribly he’d messed up, and how terribly he’d treated his friends before he got his mind straight. That was why he only saved them for absolutely essential purposes, like when a supply teacher he’d never met before tried to give him detention, or when there was going to be rain at Glastonbury. Only for the most important, crucial moments. And getting Aziraphale and Crowley to stop dancing around each other was absolutely one of those moments.

… Oh!

“Stay right here!” And they did, of course, stuck fast to their seats as Adam hopped up and made a beeline for the only recognizable music-playing device he could find: Aziraphale’s ancient gramophone. There was a box or two of records next to it, and he immediately began flipping through the dustiest ones, assuming, probably correctly, that whatever Aziraphale played the least would probably be the least awful music available.

“Your collection is _dire_ , Mr. A!” he said, smiling as he overheard Crowley muttering something that probably expressed how he’d told him exactly that a million times. “I’m taking you to Sister Ray the next time Pepper comes to town with me. She'll get you sorted out."

He ended up picking a random LP based solely on how fancy the man on the sleeve looked. He put the record on the player – it didn’t seem to be plugged into anything, which he found odd – and set the needle down. The dulcet tones of Gene Chandler filled the bookshop, and he thought it was good.

“You can come in now!” Aziraphale and Crowley walked into the room with the sort of stiffness that only people being forced by otherworldly power to move walked with. Adam smiled at them, but they did not smile back. “You two know how to waltz, right?” he asked, because he automatically assumed that all old people knew how to waltz, and nobody was older than them.

“Absolutely not,” Crowley said.

“I can do the gavotte,” Aziraphale said weakly.

“You’re going to waltz.”

They moved together, facing each other, their hands clasped together, with Aziraphale’s other hand on Crowley’s shoulder and Crowley’s other hand on Aziraphale’s upper back – “Oh, you can lower it a bit more than that! You’re not in Year 7 or something.” – Aziraphale’s lower back. None of them actually knew very much about waltzing beyond that, except for the “one-two-three” you always heard waltzing characters use in movies, so, in the end, it was more of an awkward three-step shuffle in a circle while Adam, prouder than any parent, orchestrated with both his waving arms and his infernal power.

The song ended, trailing off into that annoying static-like noise records always made when they finished, and the two of them had not announced a single hidden emotion. [2] He made a small, irritated noise, tapping his foot in thought. If dancing wasn’t romantic enough…

“You know, after they’re finished dancing, most couples have a kiss.” He looked at one, and then the other, and they both looked at him. “I think you two ought to kiss.”

They didn’t move, and he felt the uncomfortable head pangs that signaled resistance to his power. It was harder to keep control after extended use, and non-human sentient beings were harder to control in the first place. He applied just a bit more force, scrunching up his face, and that increased effort brought their faces closer together, until their noses were just barely touching. A bit more thought, and they had turned their heads to a better angle. Even as they pushed back, with all the force his soul could muster, he very nearly had their lips grazing each other…

A force that was either angelic or demonic, or perhaps both, knocked him clean off his feet, sending him flying backwards into a bookshelf.

“Adam!”

“My books!”

He felt as if his mind had been attached to an increasingly drawn tether, and that the tether had finally snapped and hit him back. He saw Crowley crouching above him, a concerned look on his face. “Why… didn’t you just…”

Crowley sighed. He helped Adam onto his feet and led him off to a nearby couch, giving Aziraphale room to coddle and fuss over his beloved books. They sat together, Adam leaning forward onto his knees and Crowley placing an awkward but assuring hand on his shoulder.

“You put a lot of thought into this bizarre thing you’re doing,” Crowley said, sounding almost impressed.

“You are in love, aren’t you?” He glanced up at Crowley, who glanced away. “Don’t lie to me. I can tell when you lie. You’re not very good at it.”

“Adam, I’m the serpent of the Garden.”

“That doesn’t matter. I would’ve eaten the stupid apple anyway, because knowledge is an awful thing to keep from people.”

“It can be better that way, sometimes.” He glanced over at Aziraphale, a little wistfully. “… It’s. It’s not time yet, Adam.”

“When will it _be_ time? It’s been five whole years!”

“Six thousand, really, but who’s counting?”

“You, obviously!” He crossed his arms and huffed, throwing himself back against the couch. “Everyone seems to know you’re in love but the two of you. Just get together already!”

“What you did was wrong, Adam.” Crowley suddenly sounded very serious, which was alarming enough for Adam to pause his hissy fit. “And I hope you haven’t been pulling that sort of thing with people _you_ love.”

The blood ran cold in his veins. “I’d never,” he said. “I’d… I was only trying to help.”

“I know, Adam.”

“You two seem like you’ll never end up together. Like I'll be long dead before either of you get on with it."

“Adam,” he said, sighing, “I have seen many ill-advised relationships over my many years, and let me tell you: a couple prematurely rushed into dating sounds like the least auspicious of all of them.”

Aziraphale came over to them, dusting off his hands on his jacket. “Well, Adam, Crowley and I had made a raspberry frangipane tart to celebrate your visit,” he said. “Though I have every right not to, I have decided to allow you a single slice. _If_ , of course, you promise not to tamper with it.”

Adam smiled, knowing full well he could charm Aziraphale into giving him any sweet that he himself hadn’t eaten, and glanced up at Crowley. “You made it together?” he asked.

Crowley shrugged helplessly. “All I did was lick the spoon,” he said. “Aziraphale did all the tough work.”

“As per usual.”

He followed them back into the breakfast nook, watching their banter with great earnestness. He hoped that their wedding would happen at least ten years in the future, so that he would have someone he loved to take as his plus one, but not much further along than that, so he wouldn’t become a decrepit old man that couldn’t enjoy whatever blowout a Crowley stag do would be.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] It didn’t, actually, because the magic working required being powered by Adam’s own belief that it would work, but he wasn’t aware of that, and it’s the thought that counts.  
> [2] Crowley was actually announcing a great deal of emotions, but none of them were very hidden.


End file.
